


Winged

by Florchis



Series: Pour your love on me [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Isle of Skye, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Marriage Proposal, Scotland, Surprises, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, aos advent 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 23:52:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16943064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florchis/pseuds/Florchis
Summary: Fitz takes Skye to her namesake island to ask her an important question.





	Winged

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fierysky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierysky/gifts).



It is not until they are on the ferry on their way to Armadale that it occurs to him to ask the question.

Skye is dozing off a little, her head against the window, and he nudges her gently awake.

“Love, we are about to get there.” She stretches her limbs, and he will never get tired of that smile she gives him when she is soft and vulnerable. She stands up, grabs her bag and laces her arm with his at the elbow on their way down, while Fitz tries to rub some warmth on her back. “Funny as it is, I never asked you while you chose Skye as a name.”

She chuckles, and hops down the ferry playfully before turning around to look at him.

“Funny as it is, it was because of the island.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I heard someone saying that they were from Skye, and to my eleven year old-self, it sounded so pretty that I adopted it.” She shrugs. “And it has grown on me ever since. Especially now that my very solicitous boyfriend has brought me here.”

Fitz shrugs too, and uses the opportunity to hide his palms on his pockets; they are sweating way too much, and he doesn’t want to raise any suspicions. Not yet, anyway.

“I like how you say that I brought you here when we are both paying for this.”

She nudges him and Fitz makes a big act of pretending to fall out of the road to make her laugh. God, he will never get tired of her laugh either.

“Well, but you planned, and that’s more than enough for me. Ugh, I hate planning.” She holds open the door of the inn for him to get inside with the bags. “Anyway, I didn’t ask you either why you thought about us coming here now?”

He turns around, panicked, and she looks at him, surprised by his reaction.

“No reason!” He rushes to reply, and before she can get another word out, he rushes to the reception desk.

With any luck, she will get distracted by the hottub once they get to their room.

* * *

As much as she tries to feign naivety, Skye knows that something is going on, and she is almost 99% sure of _what,_ exactly, is going on. It’s not that Fitz has been discreet, what with bringing her to Scotland of all places for their third anniversary, and not just to do mindless tourism. First stop, his mother’s house, and Skye is delighted to affirm that she shared delicious evenings of cognac and gossip with Mary Fitz. She didn’t ask for her approval, because she knew she had obtained it long ago; after all, they are both after the same goal that is Fitz’s happiness. Second stop, the island that shares her name, that was also a topic of conversation during their first date. There is no need to have a Masters to foresee what he is planning to do, and even them, Skye does have one, so.

Now, she is glad that all the setup is a bit obvious, because it has given her time to prepare, and well, to _think_ about it. Her first reaction to the idea of a proposal was panic, and she is grateful that she didn’t have it in front of Fitz, because knowing beforehand granted her time to process and not act by instinct only.

She spent all the flight here watching him sleep, and thinking. She has always thought of herself as someone who doesn’t put down roots, someone who is always in the move; it is what her troubled childhood taught her, and after finding May, she translated that modus operandi to her romantic relationships. But sometimes the idea we form in our minds of ourselves doesn’t match up exactly with the way we act and the way we want to act, and Skye realized with a jolt- her fingers carding softly through Fitz’s curls- that even though she has always considered herself someone who doesn’t “do” steady, it’s been three years since Fitz and her got together, and nine months since she moved in with him.

She would have expected her gut to go on flight mode at the idea of him proposing, but instead she is smiling down at him snoring lightly and her gut is saying _stay, stay, stay._      

She lets him pamper her, and she teases him ruthlessly- which is funnier because he doesn’t know that she knows-, but deep inside, she is as much looking forward to it as he is.

* * *

Fitz has been thinking of a speech even before he bought the ring. Taking her to Scotland and to Skye in particular was a bout of great inspiration, but he has no further clue about when it would be the best time to propose, and as a consequence, he has almost blurt it out a dozen times ever since they set foot on the island.

The thing is, he wants to marry this woman. There have been few moments of great clarity in his life, but all them had been decisive and straight to the heart; this is one of them, and he knows they are young, and maybe they should take things at a slower pace, but he feels choked with the need to tell her how much he loves her, and making it official and making it tangible. He just hasn’t found The Moment yet.

“Come on, old man, you are lagging behind!,” Skye shouts at him from ten feet ahead, and Fitz looks at her, laugh lines at the corner of her eyes, and her sun-kissed skin, and suddenly this walk uphill doesn’t feel like a chore anymore.

“Who did you call an old man?,” he asks in the more potent voice he can muster before sprinting after her, following her shriek of laughter like a beacon.

She lets him catch her- he is not foolish enough to actually believe he can outrun her- a few feet to the left of the viewpoint, where the people is gathered, and he circles her waist with an arm, her chest panting with laughter and his with the effort. When he snuggles her closer he thinks he may not be able to catch another breath, his chest is too full with his love for her.

Skye turns around inside the embrace, leaving her back against his chest, and points [at the waterfalls in front of them](https://www.bucketlist127.com/goal/see-the-kilt-rock-and-mealt-falls).

“Look, Fitz. How beautiful.”

His heart is pounding in his ears, and he stretches her even closer to him, and this is it.

“Yeah,” he replies, breathless, his eyes fixed on her and not on the view. “Yeah, you are.” She glances at him from the corner of her eyes with an accusatory look, but she is also smiling, and Fitz inhales deeply before lowering his head to whisper on her ear trying to be heard on top of the sound of the water falling. “Do you know what ‘Skye’ means?”

The corner of her mouth is twitching, and for some reason it makes him nervous, but she looks ahead once again and replies, “No. Do you?”

“Well, no one knows for certain,” he begins, and second-guesses himself just a second after, because how dumb it is to base his proposal on something that has _not even been proved yet?_ But he is in too deep to backpedal now, and he powers through. “But the most widespread theory says it comes from a celtic word that meant _winged._ ” Skye is full on smiling now, and that gives him courage to keep going, the ball of nerves easing a little down his throat. “And I think that is, um, is, um, fitting. Because, um.” He is full on trembling now, unrelated to the cold wind, and Skye’s thumb is drawing circles on one of his forearms that is around her waist, and he swallows down before leaping. It’s now or never. “Because that is how you make me feel. Like I’m closer to the sky when I’m with you.” He chuckles. “And isn’t that fitting too? Skye, sky.”

“Fitz-”

“No, let me finish, please.” For the first time, he raises his head and looks at the waterfalls, because he can not bear to look at her face and see any signs of rejection now. The sight might be breathtaking, but he wouldn’t know because something else has stolen his breath long ago. “That’s how you make me feel. And I want to keep feeling that way for the rest of my life. So, um. Would you marry me?”

She turns around then, and Fitz closes his eyes but doesn’t break the embrace. She is solid and warm against his body, and that comforts him.

“Fitz. Look at me.” He follows her command, and opens his eyes. Her face is unreadable, her hair wild in the wind, and he bites his lower lip. “You do know you didn’t have to bring me to Scotland to propose, right?”

He thought it was a rethorical question, but when she seems to be waiting for his answer, he frowns, “Um, yes. I do. But it seemed appropriate, somehow.”

“It is.” She is smiling, and her eyes look a little watery, but she hasn’t said yes yet, so Fitz is trying to keep his cool. “You romantic dumbass. Where will we go for our honeymoon now?”

“Um, May suggested China. But I think we have time to decide that, since you haven’t even say yes yet?”

Skye rolls her eyes.

“I should have known you where in cahoots with May.”

“Um, of course I am? Like, I love you, but your mum is terrifying, and there is nothing I fear more than awakening her wrath.”

Skye moves her lips tantalizingly closer to his, and his heart is beating at full speed in his chest, and the box of the ring is leaving a nasty indent in his hand, he is clutching it that hard.  

Skye licks her lips, and Fitz follows the movement with his eyes like he is hypnotized.

“Not even me saying no?”

“Well, there is _one_ thing I fear more than awakening her wrath.” She giggles, honest to god giggles, and Fitz can not keep up the pretension of being fine any longer. He extracts the boxring from his fist, and wriggles it open between their chests. Skye steals a quick glance at its content, but otherwise keeps her eyes fixed on him. “What do you say? Wanna sail on a new adventure with me and my cheesy speeches?”

She rubs his cheecks with her thumbs, and he melts at the contact, forgetting everything about the cold around him; this is the only thing that matters.

“With you? Always.”   

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of LLF Comment Project, whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Prompts
>   * Image reactions
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> This author replies to comments (but it might take a while). If you'd rather not get a reply, please add *whispers* to your comment.



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